


Good Morning.

by hanzhoe



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: 3am catharsis writing, Established Relationship, F/M, Mutual Pining, Non-Chronological, happy endings for once, spoilers for shadowbringers, to love and lose and love again
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2020-06-22 10:54:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19666018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanzhoe/pseuds/hanzhoe
Summary: A collection of ficlets and drabbles following a complicated, calamity-surviving, century-spanning romance that neither the WoL, nor the author ever thought they'd get. More detailed spoilery summary in the notes.Tags will be updated with spoilers for better cataloging after the first patch after ShB and ratings may go up in future.





	1. Reunion.

**Author's Note:**

> My WoL (and i) fell completely in love with a fucking doomed miqo five years ago and watched him leave forever and i thought 'ah! well that's a tragedy to her backstory, i suppose!' but he's HERE HE'S BACK HE'S ALIVE AND HE'S SO SO IN LOVE WITH THE WOL BYEEEEE. In the jpn version you say 'good morning, g'raha tia' which is so soft and loving i COULDN'T let it pass me by.

"I owe you all an apology. And _you_ most especially."

Gardenia is and has always been, among many things, a patient woman. She bided her time for fifteen years behind enemy lines in Garlemald, after all, but there's a restless energy rolling off her in waves as she watches the man she never stopped loving _avoid her eyes_ and _wring his hands_ like he expects chastisement or anger--anticipating ire when she's just glad to see him safe. The absurdity of this situation has her reliving the bewilderment she felt at Urianger's apology all over again, except somehow _worse_ because it's _G'raha_.

Gods above, _it's really him_.

The thought beats behind her breast like a drum, repeating over and over until it drowns out all other thoughts and feelings. How long has it been since she watched him lock himself away in that tower without her? How many years has she made a pilgrimage of visiting on the anniversary of the last time she truly saw him? It's no grave overlooking a spired, snow-covered city, but it _felt_ like it sometimes.

Five years. Five visits. Five lines, carved with careful deliberation into the crystal that framed the doors. She'd checked her private spot the moment she found spare time on arrival to the First and run shaking fingers over ten more lines alongside the ones she remembered. Fifteen years she'd kept her visits without fail until, she learnt later, her death. Some other Gardenia never saw him again but refused to forget, even as the world fell into calamity. It hardly bore thinking about.

And now he's _here_.

Well, to be fair, he's been here the whole time. Of course she knew it was him the moment they met, regardless of his attempts to obfuscate the truth--did he think a hood could hide his mannerisms? His personality? But it's another thing to actually _see_ the man standing there. Whole. Alive. _Awake_.

Finally, _finally_ Gardenia moves with purpose, past her Scion family to stand in front of the Miqo'te with his eyes still closed and awaiting her response. It comes swiftly, cupping his jaw with both hands and biting her lip to keep from nervous laughter (was she supposed to have _not_ recognised this jawline, these lips? _Ridiculous_ ) before she forces him gently to look at her despite the stiffness to his posture betraying the expectation of a slap. A familiar, royal red meets her copper eyes when he finally opens them to watch her scour his face like she's trying to recommit it to memory. Blood on his lips is thumbed away absent-mindedly, the Ala Mhigan unable or perhaps unwilling to look away even when her vision swims with unshed tears.

"Good morning, G'raha Tia." She says simply, sing-song lilt to her tone and the reality of the words hitting as she says them aloud, warmth suffusing every ilm of her tone with a smile.

" _Ah_ \--!" The man in question chokes on a small gasp at the combination of the look he's given and full name falling from her lips with such soft reverence he stops breathing a moment. How does she do it? With that phrase he feels like they're not in some tragically dead city under the sea, but her rooms in Revenant's Toll a lifetime ago and a world away--papers strewn left and right amid half-open books after yet another all-nighter researching. She'd always been there to greet him when he woke, usually partially sprawled over the desk in her study she'd graciously given over to him, setting a mug of something hot and delicious next to his head without looking up from her tomes.

G'raha's own hand comes up to rest over one of hers even as he ducks his head to hide his expression as he's accosted by memory. There's the answer to a question he can't let himself ask aloud on her face, he saw it when she made him look: pure, sincere affection he was _so_ certain she'd have moved on from by now. He hadn't allowed himself to think about their more personal shared history during her time here, let alone _hope_. They'd only spent a little over a year together, after all. No matter what words they'd exchanged, time they'd spent, and adventures they'd had it was a _single year_ of her legendary, worlds-shaking life. Surely not... _Surely...?_

"Tis good to be awake." G'raha answers, voice only _mostly_ shaky as an equal parts pained and relieved smile winds its way onto his lips when he raises his head again, barely having time to note the dip of her face to level with his before the second pass at eye contact breaks whatever fragile restraint had kept them both from crying. Tears carve hot paths through the dust and dirt on his face, falling too fast to be thumbed away to any particular effect but that doesn't stop the woman opposite him from swiping them away, even as her own fall freely. He has no idea how she manages to remain such a vision even with curled hair wild after a fight and sticking to tear tracks, but he can't be surprised.

Composure thrown to the wind, Gardenia hiccups a wildly carefree laugh through her weeping before leaning in to press urgent, undeniably loving kisses to every ilm of his face she can reach, heedless of the crystal that cuts across his expression and mindful only of his injuries as she drops the hand he isn't still clutching, pressed to his cheek, to the back of his neck with familiarity. Shock freezes him in place for a minute, the touch dredging up precious memories, but it's long enough for Gardenia to pause in her affections and lean back to take stock of his look. Though she only pulls back a trace, G'raha lurches--her absence distressing enough for a long-unused reflex to rear its head, arm looping around her waist and crystal fingers digging into her skin desperately, keeping her a heartbeat away. Afraid she'll realise her mistake any moment now but unable to bring himself to let go.

"Apologies," He manages, turning his head to press a kiss to her palm and gulping back a mangled sob-laugh as a hundred years worth of isolation tumbles from his shoulders, relief crashing through him before settling into his bones. Though he'll never completely understand her reasons, the actions speak for themselves. She loves him, loves him _still_. "It's been--"

"--Too long." Gardenia finishes, resting her forehead against his and closing her eyes to revel in the contentment that seeps into her at their closeness. Her next words are low, and spoken practically a breath away from his lips. "It was _always_ going to be _too long_ , Raha."


	2. First Steps.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a throwback, and the start of this as a series of non-chronological drabbles. the set up before a pay off.

Pressed flowers litter the pages of her personal library, G'raha's found. No matter what tome he plucks off the shelves for research or recreation there's always delicate, colourful petals hidden among reams of magical theses and romance novels or tucked into the indexes of hefty tomes on histories both ancient and modern. The first few times he opened a book to have carefully preserved blooms tumble out and float to the ground he'd fretted over their near-destruction but Gardenia simply laughed lightly and assured him there was no harm done as she swooped to kneel in front of him, picking up the flower and setting it back between the pages of the book in his hands as she rose.

At her full height the woman is over a fulm taller than him when she stands and G'raha slants his eyes away from hers when she does so, red ears pinning back a little in embarrassment at her proximity and smile as she looks down. Something he's learnt over the past few months amid everything else is that Gardenia is all sharp lines and angles except for her expressions, which to her friends are almost always soft and affectionate. He considers himself shockingly fortunate that she counts him among them, that he's so often on the receiving end of such looks even as they kick his pulse into overdrive and set his mind wandering.

Just like right now, he realises after several moments pass in silence. Clearing his throat and avoiding her gaze still he studiously inspects the flower, finger running along a dried petal. Honeysuckle, if he's not mistaken by the scent that still lingers lightly on the page. It's familiar in a way that needles at him before she shifts her weight and he smells it from her, too.

_ Ah _ .

"So you like flowers, then?" The nonchalance in G'raha's tone is forced, but the question is sincere enough. Eyes still anywhere but her face, he doesn't see Gardenia's amusement, or the way her gaze roves over his body language reading him as easily as any of the books around them. It's not difficult, of course--he's expressive to a fault and she _did_ tease him a little earlier...it wasn’t entirely necessary for her to _kneel_ after all.

"You could say that," She answers wryly, gesturing a manicured but calloused hand across the book-walled room to the window and the pots neatly along its sill. "Before all this I  _ was _ a florist, after all."

The casual, personal factoid yanks at something in his chest unexpectedly and causes the historian to look up in reflex, surprise evident.

" _ Were you!? _ " He yelps before collecting himself immediately as she hides a laugh behind her hand. He clears his throat and flicks his tail, tucking the now-closed book under his arm before continuing with his attention now wholly on her. "I mean--"

"--I know." Her green hair, chin-length and possessed with a bounce that exaggerates her light headshake, catches afternoon sunlight in a way G'raha finds most distracting. "It's not terribly  _ Warrior of Light _ , mm?" There's no anguish or annoyance to her tone that suggests a disappointment with her 'lot' but an edge of wistfulness he's never heard before colours her words as she leaves his side and walks over to the window, gently fussing with the leaves of a fern. 

She's history made flesh; there'll be statues of her one day, there are already tales penned--but she's also...here. Present.  _ Her. _

In an act that will reverberate across two hundred years and several dimensions, G'raha chases after her openness before the moment fades, struck with a desire to learn more about the woman and not the public figure.

"Perhaps it's not," He admits, moving to sit at the writing desk he's claimed in her library and angling his chair to look at her. "But...I think it's very Gardenia Rosemourn." His breath hitches a little as he hesitates about overstepping unspoken boundaries but plows ahead regardless. His point can't be lost in the mire of his nerves  _ now _ . "Nurturing things and uh--giving them away. To make other people happy. It's very  _ you _ ."

Fingers still in the air above the plant, their ministrations paused in surprise and for a heartbeat G'raha wonders if he's said something wrong somehow before the Highlander turns, backlit by the sun, and smiles at him with a warmth that uncoils the tension in his chest.

"Thank you, G'raha." She answers, heartfelt in a way that makes his own stutter not to mention how it feels to have her say his name with such care. His pointed attempt to tell her he sees the person behind the title is noted with an affectionate look that lingers long enough for his skin to prickle and he mirrors her smile with a tentative air that's at odds with his usual exuberance. At least, until the slamming of her front door down the hallway shatters their shared reverie. A look of annoyance flits across Gardenia's face for a split second before she sighs and shakes her head, making to leave but pausing in the doorway, hand on the frame.

"You can call me, 'Nia', you know." She says, gently.

"Nia." He repeats, matching her tone. From this angle he can only  _ just _ see the edge of a smile on her face before she nods once and is gone to greet her guest--probably Unei or Doga if he had to hazard a guess.

In the following hour, when he next opens the book under his arm to confirm a line of enquiry it's with a careful hand, making sure the pages are horizontal and empty before he starts reading and smiles a little to himself each time there's a botanical surprise awaiting. That he presses the paper to his nose and inhales the scent so intrinsically linked to her with eyes closed before reshelving the tome is a fact best kept secret.


	3. Longer Strides.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'i will get to the smut this chpater' and then i didn't

Her scent  _ haunts _ him.

It doesn't help that honeysuckle is a common plant in general, let alone in Revenant's Toll, but the perfume G'raha's now hypersensitive to catching on the breeze is inseparable in his mind from the soft rustle of hair, skin, and fabric against one another when Gardenia-- _ Nia _ , he has to keep correcting himself for the hundredth time in the past month--moves. Every time the scent seizes his attention he finds himself struck with the pressing  _ need _ to drop everything, to have her under his hands against the nearest surface, nose to her neck and lips to her skin. More recently it's begun permeating his dreams, sleepless nights leaving him aching in more ways than one.

But he does an admirable job of suffering it silently, unwilling to put yet  _ more _ on the shoulders of Eorzea's hero. His restraint is strained but unbroken in all situations and only the tell is an irritable swish to his tail: from her practice yard when she draws close to adjust his fingers while teaching him a technique picked up in some far-flung corner of Eorzea, to instances like now--engaging in a few Good Deeds alongside her in Mor Dhona.When G'raha expressed his intent to train between excursions into the Crystal Tower he didn't anticipate the Warrior of Light herself to jump at the chance to help but he couldn't possibly complain, especially not when it affords moments like  _ this _ .

"I can't help but feel the levemete underestimated the amount of Morbols here  _ ever so slightly _ ." Gardenia says casually, like this is an everyday occurrence. To her, he muses, it probably is. With the line of her back pressed against his own they take stock of the decidedly more than three creatures currently closing in on them with a surprising amount of menace for  _ plants _ , the clearing they were tasked with making safe once more is small enough to get overrun with a mere two of the beasts, and the number that careen out from between the trees make the place feel crowded almost immediately. Despite it all and with fingers flexing on his bowstring, G'raha laughs, jovial and bright and not at all perturbed by the imminent danger--facing down a Morbol outbreak is hardly grand history but it's  _ terribly _ fun at her side. All things are, he's found.

"Oh come now, it's not that bad! There's only," He pauses a second to count, "Fifteen or so!"

Gardenia elbows behind her and into his ribs with little force, "Twenty! That last one called for reinforcements." She points to the thicket in front of her with her rapier in a gesture he feels more than sees, "Cavalry's coming."

"A round number then!" G'raha rolls his shoulders and nocks an arrow, drawing the string back as the hand near his shoulder with her focus in it flexes in a manner he's learnt means she's preparing to buff them both, "Far more easily divisible between the two of us, is it not? This'll be over erelong."

"You are... _ interminably _ optimistic." She answers, words quite at odds with the affection in her voice before they break apart, spells and arrows flying in deadly tandem.

Two of their monstrous number fall to her magic before G'raha even puts one down, twin arrows lodged into what passes for a brain stem in these creatures, but such is the way of fighting alongside a hero--all that matters to him is that he can keep up and relish the two-step they fall into. There's an intimacy, he feels, to reading another person's movements and fitting into the gaps the way they've started to. Gardenia doesn't flinch when arrows whizz behind her back to take down a creature on her periphery, instead shooting him a sharp, proud smile that stokes his ego something awful when their eyes catch and neither does he recoil when several aetherial swords hurtle around him to bury themselves into his target with finality; she twists through defensive and offensive acrobatics and he dances into the spaces she leaves behind. It's a lifestyle he could get used to, following this remarkable, desperately interesting woman from adventure to adventure and chronicling history as it gets made--it's a lifestyle he  _ wants _ to get used to, though the concept of admitting as much aloud makes his throat tighten with an emotion he's yet to name. G'raha lets it slide as the mage hums a victory fanfare that he laughs at--the final Morbol dropping with a  _ thud _ before she makes her way to the corpse, heeled boot steadying the mass of the creature as she retrieves what arrows she can from its flesh. He mirrors her action in a second corpse, calling over his shoulder as he does so.

"What did I tell you?" A soft grunt as he dislodges a particularly stubborn arrowhead from a rapidly decomposing maw, " _ Easily _ divisible!" Gardenia's answering chuckle is rich and warm from a few feet away.

"Yes yes--you're a crack shot with that bow." She gestures with the arrows she's already collected, "But that hardly absolves the levemete!" The rest of her sentence is lost as G'raha preens at the compliment, only a little for show.

"Well, I  _ am _ the best archer in Sharlayan." He practically crows, standing proud with hands on his hips and nose in the air, Gardenia can't help the fond look on her face when she taps his shoulder and holds out the bundle of arrows or the way her eyes appreciatively drag up a well-toned arm as he reaches for them.

"I don't doubt it." Copper eyes finish their wandering by landing on his own, taking note of the light flush to his cheeks. "After all, I always trust that I'm in safe hands with  _ you _ , G'raha." There's a beat of silence while his ears prick up and his tail stills in surprise before he clears his throat, gaze casting anywhere but her own while taking the arrows and hoping to the Twelve that he's not blushing like some kit with a crush.

The wind changes as he overlaps his hand with hers to do so, a familiar action, repeated a hundred times in the time they've been doing this but Gardenia's hair rustles in the gust that passes them by and it undoes his already tenuously held restraint like a brick through a cobweb. Honeysuckle and all the sensations he associates with it lurch to the fore as he takes a sharp breath that overwhelms him, grip tightening reflexively, G'raha's dimly aware of a wooden clattering sound as the projectiles fall, forgotten, before his lips are on hers. Moving on pure instinct he tightens his grasp on her hand, tugging the Highlander down to meet him halfway as he strains up to drink her in. Gardenia stumbles and stoops--the man comes up to her chest at the best of times--but doesn't pull away in the slightest, instead shifting to get a better angle into the kiss before dropping the rapier from her other hand to pull him flush against her. Metal clangs against stone, shattering the spell as G'raha's lips falter and he breaks apart, brain catching up to his body and fearful regret not far behind.

" _ Thaliak _ , I'm--"

Gardenia cuts him short with a sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth, not caring for an apology, before guiding his arm to loop around her neck. There's a wicked look he's never seen before in her eye and it holds both his tongue and attention while commanding his agreement, willingly given even as red ears flatten in a latent expectation of rejection.

He knows the woman is strong, has witnessed her stack crates for Cid and prise apart machina for Wedge without breaking a sweat, but it still draws a surprised gasp from his chest for a multitude of reasons when she hoists him effortlessly off the ground, hands travelling to his thighs to coax legs into wrapping around her waist--he acquiesces automatically and watches as an indulgent smile twist lips still kiss-bitten.

"Oh." G'raha manages, shock strangling his usually brash voice to a whisper. The position is as racy as the two of them can get while fully-clothed and the ease with which she intensified the moment isn't lost on him.

"Mhm." Gardenia hums delightedly before leaning in again, lips slanting from his own, over the line of his jaw, and finally to the sage tattoos at his neck as she murmurs against his skin. "Took you long enough."

His fingers flex into the fabric of her shirt ( _ Hannish wool _ , some dim corner of his mind offers, as though that's the most important thing right now) while leaning his head to the side to give her roving mouth more skin to explore and huffs a breathless laugh as she does just that with undeniable fervour.

"You have my-- _ ah! _ \--" The mage worries teeth firmly at a pulse point that has his hips canting further into hers and tail winding round the arm that keeps him up even as sarcasm leaks into his tone, "-- _ Sincerest  _ apologies."

"Make it up to me." Is Gardenia's light response as his hands find purchase in her hair.

He intends to.


	4. Running

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> realised i can't write smut for them yet bc i live for raw emotional connection jksdhfkjsldhfs

"Why--?" Gardenia pants, half-breathless, half-exasperated as she breaks away from the heated kiss that's been occupying both of them since they stumbled over the threshold of her apartment. "Why are there so many  _ buckles _ ?" She punctuates her complaint by plucking at one out of three of the offending fastenings on his doublet and looking up at him from her perch at the end of her bed with a theatrically pained look. For his part G'raha huffs, ears flicking. At this height--her sat, him standing-- his eye roll to lands properly, his expression aiming for annoyance but landing somewhere around amused instead before he leans back in to trail quick kisses along her bare shoulder. The action is brash and a little clumsy in its execution, but the hunger behind it is real and she encourages him, pulling her bra strap out of the path of his lips while he answers.

"Did I or did I not just unlace an  _ entire _ corset?" He asks rhetorically. Gardenia can feel his smile on her skin as he speaks and she laughs, one hand creeping back to bury itself in the loosened hair that falls about his shoulders, nails gently at the nape of his neck and drawing a near-purr from him while her other sets about unbuckling.

"Oh please-- _ tore it open _ is more accurate." There's a pause while she hums a little in pleasure as teeth are introduced lightly to her collarbone, hands hot at her hips. A few light callouses speak to his proficiency with a bow and cause her to shiver a little whenever he drags them to another position on her body, no matter how resolutely chaste he's been with the locations of his touches so far she can't help but imagine what they'll feel like elsewhere. "It's hardly sporting for me to be the only one in their smallclothes already." Gardenia grouses as a small metallic noise heralds that she's finally unclasped the last buckle. G'raha takes his cue to pull back however reluctantly and shucks the layer, tossing it to join the pile of her own next to her dresser, shoes already littering the hall from the front door to her bedroom. Stood between her legs he splays his hands, palms up, and raises an eyebrow.

"Happy?" He asks, mirthful as Gardenia hooks her fingers through the lacing of his breeches and yanks him closer so his knees bump the footboard before reaching up to run her hands down his bare arms, twining their fingers together and his tail swaying contentedly at her touch.

" _ Very _ , thank you." Good-humoured sincerity colours her voice and his bravado cracks at both that and her open staring, red heating his face almost the same shade as his hair, ears pinning back against his scalp while her eyes sweep appreciatively over the planes of his chest. There's a soft scrutiny to her stare that he's utterly unused to but doesn't find unwelcome--mostly because of the way she immediately catches her bottom lip between her teeth as she starts. It's flattering to be so openly desired, all the more when he desires her right back.

_ Athletic _ is the word she'd use to describe him, she decides finally. Unsurprising considering his penchant for engaging in firsthand accounts of his studies, though she hopes to come up with more terms over time through intensive research of her own. Gardenia notes his slight shift toward awkwardness at her silent appraisal once she's finished, choosing to run her thumbs over his knuckles before lifting them to her lips and kissing the backs of his fingers in response, murmuring against the digits as she does so. "This has been...a long time coming, honestly."

" _ Ha _ !" G'raha's answering laugh is a little breathy, the depth of his closely-held, enduring affection for her makes him punch-drunk at the simple actions she takes, let alone her words. "I wish you'd told me that sooner--it would have spared me  _ months _ !" She smiles at his dramatics, dragging her eyes up to his own while turning his hands, loving kisses pressed to his palms with an intensity that matches his own and finally he sees a tint to her own dark cheekbones--sharpness softened with a blush he'd barely imagined she was capable of.

"Ah--I'm afraid I tend to keep my personal feelings quite...under lock and key." Gardenia muses a moment on how best to phrase herself next, thumbs still stroking over his skin as her gaze wanders off to the side. It's an internal vertigo, almost--she always feels like she's teetering on the precipice of telling him everything and now...why  _ not _ ? The woman takes a breath before continuing, intertwining their fingers and guiding one of G'raha's hands to set directly over her heart, and in her current state of undress, the swell of her barely-clothed breast. Her heartbeat is strong under his palm, calm, assured, and guiding his own to soothe into rhythm with hers. She isn't nervous about this, she's  _ certain _ and when she speaks next it with the same sure tone suffusing her words. "I have  _ wanted _ you, Raha--" His fingers flex minutely at the intimacy of the address, mismatched eyes locked on hers intently as they trail back to his. "--Since you first leapt from that  _ infernal _ scaffolding, and it's only gotten  _ worse _ with time."

The grin that splits her lips at the memory is wide, honest, and shows teeth--a far cry from the demure expressions she tends toward, always holding a portion of her genuineness back to assess the situation or reassure the rattled. Somehow it's the most intimate thing about this situation, he finds--to see Gardenia without her professionalism, her stoicism. Naked skin is one thing, naked emotion is another.

He wants to see more of both.

If the way she pulls him into the next kiss is any indication, he certainly will.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> guess who moved into a new place! and has a sub again! i was homeless in a hotel for two and a bit months so [sweats] no writing or much of anything im afraid but i'm BACK and i LOVE MY CAT. this feels a little rough to me so i may edit more in future but i really want to get back on the horsebird so have some pre-relationship, CT-era chatter. as this is all based on an AU (now canon) that i started way back when CT was out i take a lot of liberties with how long CT took and what it entailed bc i never wanted it to end...
> 
> anyway as always you can find me over at @everybodyliveau on tumblr and comments are always appreciated!

G'raha blazes without a word into her study with the same effortless familiarity the Archons demonstrate in her home before swooping in to pluck the delicately patterned china cup from her hand not currently occupied with a book. For her part Gardenia simply flicks her gaze over her reading glasses, unmoving as she watches the Miqo'te dig his own grave when he sips, swallows, and finally balks violently, ears and tail thrashing in his disgust.

"Ugh! You drink  _ this? _ " He manages finally while Nia returns to her book, mirth writ clearly across her features.

"Well. Not  _ cold _ , no." She's resolute in not looking up until she composes herself or else she's like to start laughing to his face, but the wry twist to her tone conveys enough ' _ you twit _ ' to make him pout in a way that has her regard him with an amused fondness. "Time slips away from me when I read, I'm afraid." Flexing her fingers, Nia finally makes eye contact before sliding her stare pointedly to the cup and back until it's returned to her grip. "Rough day?" Comes the drawl as she gestures with her chin for him to sit opposite her, an offer he takes up with a dramatic flourish.

G'raha watches the dark liquid within the teacup she holds go from still to a lightly bubbling boil at her precise yet casual application of black magic and collects his thoughts. "Truth be told," His lip curls in annoyance, "It's been no less than  _ several _ days." He has a tendency for gesticulation she's noticed, which he employs now, throwing his arms up in annoyance as his ears flick. "Every step forward with translating the texts you recovered is followed by thrice as many back! It's beginning to  _ infuriate _ me." Another huff is heaved and the beleaguered scholar leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, brow furrowed, gaze fixed at the weave of the study's carpet as though he can unpick the Thavnarian threads with his mind. As a scholar of a sort herself, it's a reaction to which she can thoroughly empathise.

"And here I thought you extolled the virtues of a good puzzle, my dear." Unfolding herself from the chair she's been occupying for the better part of this evening, Nia leans over to hand the magically reheated tea back to him for another taste, or perhaps for comfort. G'raha eyes the cup, willing but wary before finally caving and taking it from her. His tentative next sip is followed by one more, and then one after another until the cup is drained in its entirety, much to both their surprise. Nia's eyebrows raise in mirth--a fitting cover for how her copper gaze had followed the line of his throat with unprofessional interest as he drank.

"I did!" He blusters once done, inclining his head in silent thanks while setting the cup aside and motioning with his hands once more. "I do! It's just…" G'raha trails off, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth in a manner that pulls her notice for a moment before she flickers her attention back to mismatched eyes that're mercifully pointed elsewhere. "To be so close yet so  _ far _ from unlocking the secrets of such a towering, wondrous,  _ ancient _ achievement--! I feel like my very life itself has been leading up to this moment, and yet I find my every move impeded by--by mundanities and wordplay!"

The passion he exhibits about his chosen field is always something to bask in, Nia finds. These days, as an adventurer with a specific purview over primal slaying, it's not often she gets to indulge in the sheer  _ joy _ of discovery but whenever they spend time together she always finds herself drawn in. This is, of course, why she frowns and prompts him to continue. The complaint about mundanity is easy enough to understand--every step of unlocking the Tower is preceded by several errands of varying difficulty and tedium, but-- " _ Wordplay _ ?"

"They could be over fond of double meanings." Comes the explanation, long-suffering as his tone is this seems like a problem he's encountered with Allagan texts before and G'raha rolls his eyes as he explains. "It can be  _ exasperating  _ to decipher which is most pertinent and with your very  _ life _ in the balance, were I to make one misstep, it could be--"

"--Fatal?" Gardenia cuts into his rising concern--indicated by drooping ears--with a dry laugh and shake of her head. Her feet are still tucked under her person, but she leans forward in her chair regardless, forcing him to look at her and nowhere else. "Then I'm smiled upon  _ indeed _ to have the foremost scholar in his field working alongside the ever-trustworthy Ironworks to prepare me adequately for the trials ahead, no?" She shrugs lightly, finally rising from her chair to roll her shoulders and wincing a little at the cracking sound. When she moves past his chair to fix something else for them to drink her hand lands on his shoulder firmly. "Trust your instincts, G'raha Tia." A smile pulls at her lips and the candlelight behind her halos green hair with a warm glow that strangles a rebuttal in his throat. "I know  _ I _ certainly do."

It's charity when she leaves for the kitchen, he thinks. G'raha slumps back into the chair with a heavy exhale as he tries to process exactly what just happened, considering this is hardly the first time they've talked about NOAH business into the night. Try as he might, however, he can't put a finger on exactly what makes his chest swell at the thought of her words. Surely he should feel  _ pride _ , yes--and he  _ does! _ But there's something else...a different layer to her easy trust that he can't quite get a handle on understanding.

It's while he deliberates that he spots it: her book, set aside once they'd begun talking in earnest. Standing, G'raha picks it up for a passing inspection (some treatise on Spoken Diplomacy by a Moriko Kimura, it seems) and he's about to skim through its many pages before horror dawns on his face. He bolts into the hall, book held aloft as he calls over the landing.

"Do you--did you  _ dogear the corner? _ " He sounds more pained over this than the possibility of a mistranslation earlier and his answer is a simple laugh from downstairs. "What are you?!  _ Feral _ ?!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i vaguely based the (completely hc) allgan love for wordplay on the documented ancient egyptian love for puns, which had a tendency to stump historians.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on tumblr over @everybodyliveesau!


End file.
